Friends Who Are Like Family
by Mainstreetdancer
Summary: When he finds out Calista is carrying their first child, Zael's own childhood memories make him panic. His circle of friends, as always, are there to lend him support and council. The title refers to Dagran's dying words, which I think would have resonated strongly with this tight-knit group. Just a short scene that played out in my mind one morning.


**A/N:** The setting is right after the final battle, when the group gets back into town. In the game they skip forward to where everything's on the mend, but I like to imagine what it would have been like for the group in those first few days after the final showdown.

If you haven't seen Lowell's backstory scene (it's in chapter 22 and easily missable), I suggest looking it up before reading this, since it will make his thoughts and actions a little more understandable. Anyway, here's my take on the post-game story of Syrenne and Lowell.

* * *

Everyone was exhausted. Lowell was putting on a brave face for Syrenne, but his temporary death had taken a toll on him. Syrenne had received some pretty fierce wounds herself and was trying to limp inconspicuously. It didn't work, but the others pretended not to notice. The two young mages were utterly spent; Yurick was shaking like a teacup in an earthquake and Mirania's stomach was making noises better suited to a particularly grumpy hound. Zael was supporting the weakened Calista, but seeing as he could barely support himself the endeavour was a precarious one. The city was a complete wreck. How could it ever be Lazulis City again? How could it ever again be anything but this ruined mess strewn with ruined people? _Dagran._

Not one of them was fit to do anything more that night. They needed rest, and they needed it badly. Zael and Calista went to the castle to sleep in what was left of their bedchambers. The others mechanically made their way to Ariela's tavern, which was wrecked, but familiar and safe. Ariela herself was standing in the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks. Nevertheless, she offered the ragged warriors a watery smile as they approached.

"You're alive. Does this mean it's over?"

All they could do was nod. Yurick stumbled and fell against a mound of rubble. Lowell was the one who finally found the strength to speak.

"Ariela. Glad to see you're safe. Do you think we could stay? We're not overly picky about our lodgings at the moment."

The young woman looked forlornly at the state of her father's tavern and sighed. "Of course, you all are welcome here, but I am dreadfully sorry about the state of the place. The rooms upstairs may have been spared. Go on."

As it turned out, the roof had caved in over two of the upstairs bedrooms, leaving the four friends to share the room previously occupied by the men in the group. Lowell immediately collapsed onto one of the beds, and heard the others do the same. Yet just as he was dozing off, he felt his bed shift and the warmth of a body settling beside him. A female body. One whose shape and smell he would recognize anywhere.

"Syrenne?" he whispered. Maybe it's a dream.

"Mhmm." She sounded more than half-asleep. "'m not leaving you...killed...need to be...with you..."

Lowell still hadn't figured out whether she was talking in her sleep or if she was awake but too exhausted to be coherent. It didn't matter much in any case. He smiled and pulled her against him, then fell asleep almost immediately.

The two of them were the last ones up in the morning, but when they went downstairs neither Mirania nor Yurick made any allusions to their bed-sharing. Now was not the time for feelings, or the discussion thereof. There was a city to rebuild, treaties to be made and peace to be spread.

While Zael and Calista took care of the political side of things up at the castle, the other four began helping the townspeople rebuild and relocate. They found temporary shelter for those whose homes were beyond repair, and helped the rest patch up their houses and gather provisions. Syrenne's dedication was made obvious by the fact that she restricted her cries for alcohol to just two short fits of frustration. Mirania was not quite as disciplined, merrily chattering away about all the food she wanted to eat as she healed injured townsfolk.

By the end of that first day the four of them were nearly as spent as they had been after the previous day's endless battles. With aching muscles and tired spirits, they returned to the tavern for the night, but Syrenne grabbed Lowell's arm and held him back when the other two went up to their room.

"Lowell..."

He lowered his eyes and spoke without looking at her. "It's all right, love, I know that's all you needed. Warmth and comfort aren't the usual services I provide for women who climb into my bed, but you're a special case. In more ways than one," he finished with a light chuckle.

"Lowell..."

He turned to face her and immediately ceased his prattling upon seeing the look on her face. An imploring look, filled with sorrow and pain and, and, was that longing? _That's called wishful thinking, you sorry chap._

But wishful thinking was smothered in reality as Syrenne leaned in and kissed him, grasping his shirt in desperate fists. Lowell's arms wrapped around her of their own volition and so they remained, clinging together as if their lives depended on it, for several minutes. Finally, Syrenne spoke her first full sentence of the evening.

"You're wrong, you idiot. You're an immature, overconfident, womanizing arse, but I love you. And I almost lost you yesterday. We're bloody mercenaries, Lowell; any day could be our last. I don't want to waste any more time."

She had tears in her eyes – a rare event for Syrenne. The death and destruction that had ravaged the city had visibly shaken her. Every member of the group had seen their share of things they would rather unsee, but this war was on a whole new level. An entire city, formerly strong and proud, driven to the ground by one man's lust for power. The Gurak women and children, slaughtered like so many pigs by the Count's so-called knights. And Dagran._ Dagran._ The events of the past few months had shaken them all, and Lowell understood Syrenne's insecurity perfectly.

Perhaps it was this insecurity, mirrored in his own mind, that made Lowell put action before thought. He scooped her up, this woman he wouldn't admit he loved, and brought her to her former bedroom. He hastily cleared some debris from the nearest bed, not caring that the chamber lacked a ceiling, and enveloped Syrenne in his arms once more. Their lovemaking was frantic and desperate, a perfect metaphor for their emotional state. Clothes were strewn about the ravaged room like the bodies about the city; hands blindly groped for a holdfast, mouths clumsily found each other in the dark. It was anything but the slow, romantic encounter Syrenne had secretly dreamt of in the past, but this was what she needed – it was what they both needed.

Afterwards, with a chill wind blowing on them from the lack of roof, the two of them collected their things without speaking and went to the other room, where Mirania and Yurick were fast asleep. Syrenne did not climb into Lowell's bed this time, and Lowell lay awake for most of the night, stuck inside his head where his feelings and his fears were waging heavy war.

* * *

To be continued. :)


End file.
